


holding your breath when you just wanna scream

by serenitysea



Series: both of you fell the same day & you don't know why (one of you never woke up) [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, hella sads, these feels are nothing we were ever trained for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>skyeward + best friend's sibling au</i> prompt</p><p>aka: that time something <i>terrible</i> happened and skye and grant have to find their way back to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	holding your breath when you just wanna scream

**Author's Note:**

> i have nothing to say here except YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

_come clean when the lines get blurry_  
 _come clean when the down gets dirty_  
 _holding your breath_  
 _when you just wanna scream_  
  
 _at some point we all have to_  
 _come clean._  
  
*  
  
Nothing is the same after the accident.  
  
*  
  
When Skye and Rosie are sixteen, Grant takes pity on them (or gets sick of hearing his little sister begging) and agrees to teach them how to drive. He takes them to an abandoned lot outside of the empty military base on the other side of town and pushes his seat all the way back — which is, another meager two inches — and Rosie sits on top of him to reach the pedals.  
  
It takes her a good hour to figure out how to work the clutch and the gas and the brake and not kill them all; she stalls more often than not, and Skye is absolutely no help from where she is laughing hysterically in the backseat.  
  
When it is Skye’s turn, she climbs out of the backseat and comes around the driver’s side to where Grant  is awkwardly fidgeting. (And he never fidgets.)  
  
She raises an eyebrow. “You gonna let me sit on your lap, too?”  
  
Rosie giggles and throws some m &m’s in her mouth.  
  
Grant gets out of the car (where he and Skye do this weird, dancing thing until they figure out that the way to go is _opposite_ of the other person) and glares at his sister. “If you get chocolate in my car, so help me god, Rosie —”  
  
"Oh please," Skye rolls her eyes, adjusting the mirrors and the seat until she is sitting comfortably. "Like we don’t already know she’s your favorite."  
  
He growls in irritation and folds his arms mulishly.  
  
Rosie leans forward until she can wrap her arms around him in the passenger seat, kissing his cheek noisily. “Love youuuuuu,” she trills.  
  
Skye lets her foot off the brake and they go rocketing ahead. She grins at Grant, eyes dancing as she downshifts with only a little trouble and sends the car jumping forward.  
  
When she glances up at the rearview mirror, Rosie has fallen back into the seat with a matching smile so big that it should be illegal.  
  
*  
  
She has nightmares.  
  
Brutal, horrible nightmares.  
  
*  
  
The funeral is terrible.  
  
Grant and Thomas stand on either side of their mother like dark guardian angels and no one dares to approach.  
  
Mr. Ward had stayed home.  
  
There are no words exchanged. There is no portrait of Rosie on an easel for anyone to look at. The sky is gray and cold and it is everything she would have hated.  
  
(Skye keeps thinking that the coffin looks too small to hold her best friend and her massive personality.)  
  
People keep looking to the Ward brothers as if they will have the magic words to say but other than the brief thanks Christian had offered to those who had shown up — the boys remain silent.  
  
(Skye wants to scream at the injustice of it all.)  
  
There is a low gasp as Mrs. Ward appears to lose her footing and the boys have to scramble to help her to remain upright.  
  
(And Skye keeps thinking that the wrong girl survived.)  
  
The funeral is terrible.  
  
*  
  
Rosie gasps in between her laughter and suddenly the humor on her face sharpens into alarm. “Skye —”  
  
*  
  
Her parents stare at with undisguised sadness in their eyes and Skye wants to scream at them.  
  
No one _gets it_ more than she does. No one _hurts_ the way she does. No one feels more _horrible_ than she does.  
  
No one has to _keep on living_ — not like she does.  
  
*  
  
Skye turns her head to look at her best friend and sees the bright glare of headlights that are way closer than they should ever be and only has a heartbeat to open her mouth in a scream before —  
  
*  
  
The doctors call it a miracle that she survived.  
  
They say that _someone up_ there was watching out for her, that she has a guardian angel.  
  
(Skye doesn’t tell them that her best friend had protected her until her last breath.)  
  
(They’d probably accuse her of being dramatic — but only because it is easier than having to admit that she’s right.)  
  
They tell her she has to keep living, for her friend.  
  
She stares at them with dead eyes and nods when she is supposed to.  
  
(It just feels like she’s watching everything from a distance and she’s off to the side _screaming_ while they tow away the wreck of her car with Rosie trapped inside.)  
  
*  
  
— _impact_.  
  
*  
  
Going back to school is awful.  
  
Her schoolmates look at her like she’s some kind of freak, like she’s about to break like a broken figurine that has been glued back together one too many times.  
  
(They have no idea.)  
  
The guidance counselor wants her to open up about her feelings and _talk_ about the jagged _ache_ in her chest and Skye just stares at her balefully until it is time to go.  
  
(What she feels, how she thinks — that belongs to _Rosie_. She sure as hell isn’t going to share it with some stranger who will only give her stupid platitudes and cliches.)  
  
There is a somber attentiveness from her teachers that grates on her last nerve and sends her to the bathroom nearly every other class. She can’t _stand_ the way everyone looks at her, can’t stand how it makes her _feel_. It’s like she’s under a microscope and everyone keeps waiting for her to make some kind of move.  
  
*  
  
The horn blares loudly in her ears and all she can feel is pain.  
  
It radiates throughout her entire body and and she can’t move and she can’t breathe for the fire racing in her veins and something is wrong, it’s so wrong — _but what is it what is she forgetting why does everything hurt so badly?_  
  
There are sirens wailing and bright lights everywhere and she just _hurts hurts hurts_ until it all mercifully goes black.  
  
*  
  
The bar is packed with faces she doesn’t recognize and a bunch of frat boys drunkenly playing pool in the dark corners. Skye gets a fresh drink from the bartender (who doesn’t bother looking at her fake ID) and slowly makes her way over to where they are laughing uproariously and making crude jokes.  
  
The trick is to look at it like a new experience that isn’t really new at all. And she can put on a mask better than anyone here — she does it at school every day.  
  
(She can do this. She _has_ to do this. It’s for _Rosie_.)  
  
"Got room for one more?" Skye tilts her head coyly, letting her hair fall down her back.  
  
"Sure thing, darlin’," The tallest one in the group holds out a hand, beckoning her closer.  
  
"Don’t mind if I do," Skye says, tossing back the last of her drink and slamming it down on the counter. "I seem to be in need of a beverage, though."  
  
Before her new friend can offer to get her a drink, there is a _wall_ of person standing in front of her and she has to crane her neck back to discover belongs to none other than Grant Ward.  
  
"Crap," she mutters quietly.  
  
He glares down at her and puts a protective arm around her shoulder, turning away from the frat.  
  
*  
  
She never forgets the screeching roar of the crash.  
  
*  
  
The ride home had been painfully silent. Grant still knew where the spare key was hidden and deactivated the alarm system with the kind of swiftness she would not have been capable of at this hour. While it had the added bonus of making sure her parents remained asleep, it got on her nerves that he was this good at pulling her out of a situation she wanted to be in — down to the pathetic, damsel-in-distress rescue.  
  
"I could have gotten home on my own," She quietly mutters while he watches her with dark eyes that give nothing away. When he just stands there, pointing to her bedroom and waiting for her to go in, she snaps out, "Did you ever think that maybe you weren’t wanted there?"  
  
(And maybe it’s petty and _small_ of her but he’s made her feel like she is six inches tall and she doesn’t need any help from him with that these days. She _wakes up_ feeling that way.)  
  
Grant exhales slowly and shakes his head. “Do you really think this is what she wanted?”  
  
(If he had _kicked her in the ribs_ it would have hurt _less_.)  
  
Skye can hardly see him through the tears blurring her eyes. “Get _out_.”  
  
He leaves.  
  
The sound of the door shutting is like a cannon in her ears.  
  
*  
  
Rosie stares at her like she’s lost her mind. “Of _course_ he’s my favorite brother.”  
  
Skye flops back on the bed dramatically. “You’re just saying that because you want me to like him.”  
  
The famous Ward determination gleaming from her eyes, Rosie crawls up next to her friend until she is practically resting on top of her. “I’m saying it because it’s true.” When Skye remains stubbornly quiet, Rosie stares at her toenails critically. “We should go for pedicures.”  
  
"It’s like eight o’clock, Ro."  
  
"So?" She nudges her in the side. "I thought you were the wild one. Since when do you call it a night at 8 on a weekend?"  
  
Predictably Skye rises to the challenge, sitting upright and staring at her in dismay. “Okay, but don’t blame me when something terrible happens later.”  
  
"Nothing terrible will happen," Rosie scrambles off the bed, tossing articles of clothing haphazardly until she finds a hoodie and a pair of leg-warmers, which she hands to her friend. "Unless we stay here like old people for the rest of the night."  
  
*  
  
He makes her _so angry_.  
  
He comes into her life after having been absent for the past six months, away at school (and she’s _furious_ that he gets to _leave this all behind_ while she’s stuck _drowning_ in it) and totally clueless about how things have been during the interim.  
  
"Do you want to know what I _really_ think?”  
  
He throws his arms up in exasperation. “Yes, Skye, I do. You won’t talk to me, you refuse to say anything to your parents —”  
  
"— It should _have been me_.” Her bitterness flies at him like hundreds of shards of glass.  
  
Grant looks like she just punched him in the stomach. “…What?”  
  
"Oh come on," she tosses him a loaded glare, trying to keep her hands from shaking. "Everyone knows it. Rosie was the good one; the daughter everybody wanted. She made everyone happy. I’m just the wild one, the screw up."  
  
"— Skye, _no_ —”  
  
"Don’t tell me it’s not like that, Grant, because I’m the one who has to live with the weight of _surviving_ every single day and —” Her voice breaks off raggedly.  
  
Grant goes very still. “Skye.” He steps closer to her and puts a hand on her shoulder, ignoring the way she flinches ever so slightly. “Please tell me you’re not…” He inhales sharply and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, there is something hard and unyielding in his gaze, but instead of condemning it feels like she is finally, finally being _seen_.  
  
He puts his other hand on her shoulder and draws her closer until she has no choice but to look up at him. With the quiet voice she hadn’t heard since Rosie’s funeral, he says, “I can’t lose you too.”  
  
*  
  
"You shouldn’t have favorites," Rosie chides from the floor, where she has been sprawled against a massive bunch of pillows for the past twenty minutes.  
  
"Why not?" Skye closes her eyes and listens to the familiar noises (doors slamming, plates being washed — they were always eating — cars opening and closing) of the Ward household. It soothes her, being here. It always has. "Grant is your favorite brother."  
  
There is silence while her accusation hangs in the air.  
  
*  
  
Skye opens her mouth in a wordless scream and crumples in on herself like she has so many times before.  
  
Except this time is different.  
  
This time, Grant is there to catch her.  
  
He pulls her against him so fiercely it’s like he is trying to draw her _inside_ of himself. It should hurt, how strong his grip is, but instead it feels like a weight has been lifted. That there is some kind of blissful _relief_ knowing that someone else hurts as badly inside as she does — that someone feels the raw agony tearing her apart and all the empty, jagged missing pieces leftover from the accident, from the gaping maw of _Rosie_ left behind.  
  
"I didn’t know," he brokenly whispers to her — which is when she realizes that she’d been talking out loud.  
  
"I —" She squeezes her eyes shut and it doesn’t help; the tears keep falling and she keeps hurting.  
  
He guides her face gently to rest against his neck and she curls deeper, into his lap and stays there and holds on.  
  
She just holds on.  
  
"Don’t let go," Skye gasps out, pressing even closer like she can vaporize the pain into the lack of space between their bodies.  
  
"Never." Grant tightens his arms around her and buries his face into her hair —  
  
— and it is like something has _finally_ clicked into place after being so far out of whack for an achingly long time.  
  
He holds on.  
  
*  
  
The last words Rosie ever says are:  “Tell Grant you love him.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> \+ [tumblr](http://b-isforbombshell.tumblr.com)  
> \+ lyrics & title belong to _come clean_ by tristan prettyman


End file.
